Or, “How the Craziest Thing I Ever Did Was the Smartest Thing I Ever Did”

Six years ago today, I arrived in Sweden, with my four-year-old daughter in tow, to move in with a man I hadn’t yet met in person. Plenty of people would–and did–call that stupid, but I never had a moment’s hesitation. Really.

At the time, I told myself that I just “knew” it was right and that everything would work out. For a long time I was pretty smug about having been right, but with a little distance from the initial rush I realized that I probably owed as much to good luck as to good instinct. That doesn’t change the fact, though, that I was right.

I usually try to steer clear of sappiness here, but I have to say that my marriage to Olof is the stuff dreams are made of. I couldn’t have made a better match if I’d created him myself. Every day I think to myself how lucky I am to be with him. He’s kind and generous, patient and easy-going, funny and smart, and so many other wonderful things that I’d be here writing all night if I tried to list all of them.

And, perhaps best of all, if you asked him, he’d say that he was lucky to be with me.